


The Bonds We Gain

by FictionAddictions23



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aphrodisiacs, Dreams and Nightmares, Happy Ending, Humor, Knifeplay, M/M, No Smut, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 15:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionAddictions23/pseuds/FictionAddictions23
Summary: When Sanji goes missing for three days, Zoro is the one who finds him after the cook has suffered terribly at the hands of a sadistic marine. When the two men are forced to face their conflicting emotions and past traumas, they must keep each other's greatest secret and form an even deeper bond of trust.





	1. Blood and Chains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Imiaslavie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imiaslavie/gifts).



> WARNING: References to rape and torture (not described in detail) and depictions of mildly graphic violence. Please read at your own risk. This fic contains mature themes that may be triggering, and some out-of-character moments due to the seriousness of the topic. Please forgive me if the issue seems downplayed or could have been handled differently, as this was my first and likely only time writing a fic like this. Thank you :)

The shitty cook had been missing for three days. There had been a particularly chaotic situation at the previous island involving two different groups of pirates that had dragged the Straw Hat crew into their long-standing feud, a sizable faction of marines led by a rather sadistic vice admiral with a chain-related devil fruit, and a literal army of drunken circus performers.

Zoro could barely remember how the battle had started, but it had escalated into a disastrous city-wide incident that ended in more chaos, casualties, and confusion. It was no wonder that after the entire crew had been separated during the madness, each member fighting their own battles and defeating different enemies, Sanji had disappeared without a trace.

At first, no one was particularly worried—the fighting cook was certainly capable of handling himself in a tough situation, and it would usually take nothing short of a natural disaster to prevent the dedicated chef from returning to his kitchen in time to serve his lovely ladies their next meal, so the Straw Hats had spent the first day recovering from the incident and awaiting Sanji’s return.

When he hadn’t returned by the second day, some of their crewmembers went out in search of the missing blond—if only to have him return to his job (poor Nami was useless as a substitute cook, though she was still the best choice out of the rest of the Straw Hats). Still, Sanji was nowhere to be found, and all of them were beginning to worry…

With the exception of Zoro, who would never admit to feeling actual _worry_ over that blond idiot, though he eventually had to concede that it was unusual for Sanji to be away this long, so it would probably be a good idea to at least try and find him before they all starved. The search had dragged on into the third day and likely would have gone longer had Robin not overheard a group of marines at a tavern in mid-discussion about an unknown blond pirate that had been captured during the earlier commotion. 

The problem was that he had apparently already been taken to another marine base under the close supervision of Vice Admiral Sadisuto, the chain-chain man. Just wonderful. Leave it to the cook to go and get himself kidnapped in one of the most heavily populated archipelagos with marine bases on every third island— _that_ wouldn’t make it difficult to hunt him down or anything.

The rest of the crew had vetoed Zoro’s half-hearted suggestion that they just keep sailing and find a new cook at the next island, so that was how they ended up splitting into four groups to search for Sanji; Luffy and Nami payed for passage to the most likely destination where the main marine base was located; Usopp and Chopper decided to tail some of the marines who had stayed behind in the hopes of overhearing any useful information; Franky and Brook made their way to a popular casino at the southern island where it was rumoured that the vice admiral often visited for his entertainment, and Zoro and Robin decided to try their luck at a smaller marine base within a reasonable distance from the site of Sanji’s apparent kidnapping.

The swordsman’s luck must have run out because he somehow got separated from Robin during their infiltration mission, which quickly turned into a one-man blitz when he lost his patience with all of that sneaking around. He found himself in the middle of another chaotic situation as the entire marine base raised an alarm against the two intruders. He was running blindly though the hallways, cutting down every enemy that came his way, and forgetting to ask any of them if they knew where an annoying blond prisoner with the mouth of a sailor might be being held, when he quite literally stumbled upon his missing crewmate.

Blood and chains—they were the first things that registered in Zoro’s mind when he crashed through a random door and noticed the blond man hanging in the middle of the room by his wrists. The second detail that registered was that the man was indeed the Straw Hat’s cook, and the third thing (which really should have been the first, but it was the _last_ thing he expected) was that Sanji was naked.

It came as a considerable shock to the swordsman, partly because the cook was so covered in blood and bruises that his pale skin was barely visible underneath the wounds, but mostly because the words _Sanji_ and _naked_ had long since been banned from sharing a space in his conscious mind. In fact, he was so completely stunned by the display that he spent much too long simply gaping at the scene with growing horror and revulsion. He knew instantly what had happened in this room, and his stomach sank at the realization that his nakama had been missing for three days…

The cook had been in this goddamn room for _three fucking days_. It was obvious by the bloody gashes in Sanji’s wrists, caused by the constant friction of the metal handcuffs as he’d strained against them, and the even more noticeable bruising that painted his shoulders, torso, and hips with multi-colored splotches, each at varying stages of healing. There were dozens of cuts as well, some shallow and more that were deep enough to still drip fresh blood, which trickled slowly over the contours of the cook’s lithe body like tiny red snakes. Zoro’s shock and disgust turned to anger when he noticed how prominent Sanji’s ribs appeared—even coated with dried blood, it was clear that he hadn’t eaten since they’d brought him here.

His gaze fell on a matched set of bruises on either side of the cook’s hips, in the exact shape of fingers, and he promptly lost his breakfast on the tiled floor. For a moment, he simply stared at the mess he’d made, desperately grasping at the scattered marbles of his brain in an attempt to comprehend the situation that he’d just walked into— _he_ had just walked into. Out of everyone who could have found Sanji, it had to be the one person whom the cook would give an arm or a leg to keep from seeing him like this. Zoro knew that he would feel the same way had the situation been reversed, and the knowledge made him want to run out of the room and let somebody else handle it.

Except, the only other person who could have was Robin, and he thought that it might be even worse if Sanji’s savior were one of his precious ladies. God, it would still be fucked up no matter _who_ had found him, so the swordsman had no choice but to pick himself up and swallow his trepidation because his nakama was suffering in front of him—and he was still glaringly naked.

Zoro had never felt so uncomfortable in his life, especially when his mind provided him with the observation that not only was Sanji as bare as the day he was born but he had what looked to be a very painful erection—even in unconsciousness—which could only be the result of some sick bastard drugging him. A second wave of nausea rocked the swordsman, followed by a third wave when he realized how flushed his own face had become at the sight. He had the sudden desire to unsheathe a sword and plunge it into his traitorous body for feeling even a _shred_ of arousal when his crewmate was so helplessly exposed.

 _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ the swordsman growled internally, guilt-ridden. He shoved all of his thoughts away and desperately searched the room for anything resembling clothing to no avail. Unable to procrastinate any longer, he slowly approached Sanji’s unconscious form, gaze trained determinedly on his face for any sign that he was waking up, and swiftly unhooked his green haramaki so that he could wrap it around the cook’s waist to preserve his modesty. He was sure he would be in shit for it later, but it was better than subjecting them both to greater mortification than was necessary.

It seemed that the cook’s state of unconsciousness was not as deep as Zoro had thought, because as soon as the weight of his garment settled on the thinner man’s hips, Sanji jerked at the touch, his blue eye flying open and locking onto the other man’s face. He pierced the swordsman with a look so filled with unadulterated hatred that, for the first time, Zoro legitimately wanted to cower under his penetrating gaze. He stood completely still and willed himself to school his expression into neutrality because he was afraid that if Sanji saw anything resembling worry, disgust, or worse—pity—in his eye then he would probably raise hell, and the swordsman would never hear the end of it.

Surprisingly, the blond reacted to Zoro’s presence as he never had before—pure relief and genuine happiness chased away the menacing glare that had previously been on his face before he seemed to come to his senses and masked his emotions with the default annoyance that he usually reserved for the swordsman.

“Great. It’s you,” he grumbled, breaking eye-contact immediately.

Zoro suddenly didn’t care if the stupid bastard had been raped and strung from the ceiling—that response stung. “Are you fucking kidding me _?_ ” he snapped. “ _That’s_ what you want to say to me?! I should leave you hanging here, you ungrateful shit.”

Sanji visibly bristled, as he always did when Zoro insulted him, and then he seemed to notice the haramaki draped around his waist. “Gee, thanks. Now I can look like a fashion-impaired idiot, too.”

Never in his life had the swordsman wanted to deck a person so badly before. How _dare_ the bastard speak to him like that in such a serious situation?! They were still nakama, even if they didn’t get along as well as they should, so didn’t Zoro deserve even an ounce of respect when he was about to cut the fucker loose and carry his bleeding ass back to the ship?

 _Bleeding ass…too soon, Zoro,_ he thought to himself—it was quite possible that his rage was making him slightly delirious. _Fuck, I’m handling this terribly._ With a deep sigh, he managed to restrain himself from snapping one of his usual pissed-off comebacks and calmly drew one of his swords. “Look, I’m not in the mood to play your fucking games. If you have any dignity then you’ll shut up and drop the act. I’m your fucking nakama, dickhead.”

Something in the swordsman’s expression must have convinced the other man that he was being serious because Sanji finally raised his head and looked at Zoro properly. His face was the only thing that hadn’t been touched, which made it look all the more handsome compared to the damage that had been done to the rest of him. Other than the still bleeding head wound marring the golden color of his hair, he looked relatively normal from the neck up.

“Your hands are shaking,” Sanji noted, turning his face away to escape the swordsman’s perusal.

“I know,” Zoro said, even though he hadn’t.

“I’m…sorry.” The word sounded like poison in the prideful cook’s mouth, but at least he’d managed it. “That wasn’t fair of me. It’s not like you did this,” he added blankly.

His eyes had gone flat as he stared down unseeingly at the swordsman’s mid-section, and there was a sudden tension shaking his limbs as the cook fought to remain motionless. He was probably feeling overcome with anger and humiliation—and rightfully so. Zoro wanted to make it better somehow, but he wasn’t sure what he could possible do or say to even make it bearable, so he settled for dropping the boundaries that they usually erected between one another. He let his shoulders sag, and his fingers reached out to catch the cook’s chin, forcing the other man to meet his gaze. The touch startled Sanji bad enough to make him look up in surprise, but he remained silent.

“I’m gonna cut you down now, so hold onto me if you don’t want to fall and hurt your legs,” he told him calmly.

Sanji seemed even more surprised by this. “Wha—how did you know there was something wrong with my legs?”

“Well for one thing, you’re only chained by the wrists, but your legs are free. If they were fine then you would’ve kicked some ass and escaped ages ago. It’s more the fact that they caught you at all, though—no way these normal fucking marines, even a devil fruit user, would be able to capture you if they hadn’t cheated. So what did they do to them?”

The cook’s posture relaxed slightly, and he let out a deep sigh as he let his own barriers crumble. They were alone, so there wasn’t any need to keep up the antagonism that was usually second nature to them. Instead, they could focus on the situation at hand and work together.

“It was a long-distance dart. They got me right in the neck while I was mowing down a bunch of their guys. It all happened so fast, and before I knew it my legs had turned to jelly—I was totally paralyzed from the waist down when that bastard’s chains sprouted around me.”

“Well, he wasted his devil fruit power since it’s not like you would’ve fought back with your hands, Cook.”

Sanji snorted and shot the swordsman a look filled with uncharacteristic self-deprecation. “I know. I’m fucking useless in a fight without my legs—don’t remind me, asshole.”

“At least you can say you’ve got conviction.”

“Tell me that after you cut me loose, and maybe I’ll appreciate the compliment.”

“It wasn’t a—whatever,” Zoro muttered, drawing his white katana. He stepped closer so that the blond could lay his forearms on the swordsman’s broad shoulders, severing the chains above his wrists in one quick motion. Without his legs to catch himself, Sanji had no choice but to hold onto the other man for support. Zoro automatically gripped his nakama around his torso as he fell, but his hand slipped in the blood dripping down his back, causing the cook to suck in a sharp breath.

He was obviously injured, but Zoro had purposely avoided walking around Sanji when he’d been searching the room and hadn’t expected his hand to slide in so much blood. His fingers were splayed on the cook’s back, and he could feel a series of deep gashes that he recognized as having been made with a razor-sharp blade. He immediately stilled to minimize the pain, but Sanji went as white as a sheet, which was understandable considering how he was already so fair in the first place and had to be suffering from extreme blood loss.

“Fuck—sorry,” he muttered, lowering his crewmate to his knees. They knelt in a pool of Sanji’s blood and…other liquids as Zoro waited for the cook to recover from the sudden movement. After a few seconds, he released his death grip on the swordsman’s shoulders and placed his hands down on the floor to ground himself. They were still chained together and bleeding heavily, so Zoro stood and silently held his sword in front of him. Sanji didn’t hesitate to hold out his arms so that the handcuffs could be removed, which was truly an incredible act of trust considering how precious those hands were to him. Zoro couldn’t help but feel slightly honored by the blond’s unflinching form as the katana came towards him and sliced the metal cleanly in half.

“You look like you’re about to pass out. Are these still bleeding?” he asked, walking around to inspect the wounds on the blond’s back.

“H-hey! It’s fine—just leave them alone!” Sanji snapped quickly. He attempted to turn away as Zoro stepped behind him, which only seemed to cause more pain. It was too late to stop the swordsman from seeing, so he just clenched his fists hard enough to increase the flow of blood from his wrists. Zoro mimicked the action, nearly drawing blood from his own palms as he dug his nails into them in anger. Deep, ragged slashes decorated the middle of the cook’s upper back, his flawless skin marred by twelve lines that spelled out a single word in large capital letters...

**SLUT**

Most of the lines were beginning to heal, although they still looked incredibly painful, while the last few letters were inflamed and dripping crimson down Sanji’s spine.

“What the _fuck?!_ ” Zoro raged, frozen in place by the horrific sight. He felt his anger boil over, arms shaking as he stared down at his nakama’s hunched form. Sanji had gone completely rigid—it was obvious that he knew what the word said and was equally furious that he’d essentially been branded in such a depraved way.       

“The fucker was keeping count,” Sanji muttered, shifting self-consciously.

“Keeping count of _what?!_ ”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Zoro stomped back around and crouched in front of the cook. “Tell me. Now,” he demanded adamently.

“It’s none of your fucking business, shitty-swordsman.”

“Tell me what he _fucking did_ or so help me, Sanji, I will burn this entire marine base to the ground. You should know that Robin’s also running around here someplace.”

The blond was visibly startled by Zoro’s outburst, but he still seemed reluctant to give an answer. “You can’t threaten me with Robin-chan as collateral—I know you’d never hurt her, because I’d kill you. Why does it even matter?” he mumbled evasively.

“If fucking matters to _me_  because I need to know how many limbs to chop off!”

Sanji just stared at him until it became apparent that the swordsman was not going to let the issue drop. “Fine, but you’ve been warned,” he snapped, training his eyes on the ground so he wouldn’t have to meet Zoro’s intense gaze. “I was drugged with a powerful aphrodisiac—I know that’s a pretty big word, moss-head, so all I’m gonna say is that, believe it or not, there _is_ such a thing as too many orgasms.”

“I knew it—that sick fuck! He’s dead.”

Sanji flushed at the implications of this response because it was clear that Zoro had noticed his unfortunate condition before he’d woken up. Suddenly, the haramaki was greatly appreciated.

“Uh…w-what the hell are you doing?” he asked, since the swordsman had begun undressing in front of him.

“I’m not gonna carry you around with just that little piece of fabric—your skinny ass will on display for the whole world. Cover up, Cook.”

He quickly removed his dark-green coat and wrapped it around the blond’s shoulders without preamble. Sanji was too surprised to protest and allowed the other man to put his arms through the sleeves as though he were a toddler. It wasn’t until after Zoro had tied the red sash around his waist to hold the material closed that he bristled in annoyance at having to be dressed in the swordsman’s unfashionable clothes.

“When was the last time you even washed this?” he grumbled irritably.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Did you say ‘thank you, Zoro. I’m grateful that you’re willing to run around half-naked so that I can wear this nice, warm coat?’”

“No, I said ‘hurry up and get us the fuck out of here before my luscious hair turns grey.’”

“Sorry, but I can’t do that yet. I’m waiting for him.”

“Eh?”

“I can sense that asshole coming. He’s probably on his way to get you since I’m sure Robin that is giving the marines a run for their money. They’ll know that we came looking for you.”

“Forget it. Let’s just make sure that Robin-chan is safe and get back to the Sunny. I can’t fight him like this anyway,” Sanji suggested unhappily.

Zoro knew that the cook was beyond pissed. With his legs still paralyzed, he would only be asking for more injuries if he tried to take on a vice admiral unarmed. The swordsman wasn’t prepared to leave without a fight, though, and his bloodlust was growing with each step that bastard took. He recognized the man’s disgusting aura from an earlier encounter during the battle at the last island, and he couldn’t help but mentally kick himself for letting him get away the first time. It had made sense in the moment to leave the devil fruit user to the other devil fruit users, but he had never regretted anything more.

“I’m sorry, Sanji...if I thought you would listen to me then I’d tell you not to look, but you’ve never listened to a thing I say, so why would you start now?” he asked quietly.

“What are you talking about, marimo?”

“Just…don’t try to interfere.”

At that moment, the door behind him opened and the vice admiral stepped into the room. Zoro ignored the man’s angry exclamation at him for freeing his prisoner and calmly unknotted the black bandana he kept around his arm. Sanji was expecting the him to tie it over his green hair as usual, so he looked at his nakama in visible surprise when Zoro reached out and carefully tied it around the cook’s head. 

“You’re still bleeding,” he offered by way of explanation. He knew that his face was slowly transforming as he prepared to face the bastard, and Sanji was in full view of what must be a truly demonic expression. The cook just stared at him curiously before his eyes were drawn to the sound of Zoro unsheathing another sword. The swordsman slowly stood and turned towards his enemy.

The vice admiral immediately eyed Zoro’s bare chest with the sort of smirk that would give a normal man chills. “Who’s this? A lover perhaps? Come to save his damsel in distress?” the man taunted with a manic grin that quickly became feral. “Finder’s keepers,” he growled, whipping out a pistol from a hidden pocket.

The gun fired three times, but Zoro deflected each of the projectiles with scary precision. The vice admiral’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he fired another three shots that were also deflected. His expression grew angry, but he wasn’t able to pull the trigger again because Zoro had appeared directly in front of him with his swords raised. Instead of bringing them down like Sanji expected, the swordsman leaned back to kick the man in the chest hard enough to send him crashing into the far wall.

Zoro bent down and picked up one of the projectiles that had been fired from the gun, turning the sharp dart over in his hand contemplatively. He seemed to be ignoring the vice admiral, who was lying in a crumpled heap behind him, until the man raised his gun again to take another shot. Sanji blinked, and suddenly Zoro had pinned the man’s wrist to the wall with his boot, applying pressure until the other man was forced to drop his weapon.

The vice admiral didn’t seem afraid—in fact, he appeared greatly amused by Zoro’s effort. “Aren’t you going to use your swords?” he asked mockingly, flicking his free wrist in a motion that seemed to control his devil fruit powers. Chains immediately began growing out of the floor towards Zoro, roping around his body with snake-like motions, but the swordsman spun in a circle and easily sliced them apart before they could bind him.

“Don’t wave your disgusting hands at me!” he spat, spinning to cut down another slew of chains. Sanji couldn’t see through all of the flying metal, but he heard the agonized cry of the vice admiral just before the chains froze in midair and crashed to the floor. Zoro had managed to direct two of his slashes at the other man, severing his hands cleanly at the wrists. The vice admiral hunched over and cradled the bleeding stumps as they coated his marine uniform in a ghastly red.

“Can’t you control those chains without your hands?” Zoro asked just as mockingly, his voice becoming more dangerous with each word. “I think you’re much better off without them. What were you coming here to do, huh? Did you think you could lay another finger on my nakama, you fucking bastard?!”

With a rage-filled cry, the injured marine lurched to his knees and threw himself towards Zoro in a wild fit of desperation. The swordsman moved so quickly that his limbs blurred as he dodged his opponent and sank the man’s own dart into the side of his neck with a vicious thrust. Blood spurted from the wound as the vice admiral stumbled back a step from the force. His legs began to wobble as the drug entered his bloodstream, and he slowly collapsed on the floor.

“Are you comfortable down there?” Zoro asked him sarcastically. “I should hang you from the ceiling by your neck…but that would be too quick.”

Sanji flinched when Zoro reeled back his leg and drove his boot into the marine’s side. It was so strange for the swordsman to ignore his swords like that, and it was especially odd to see him kick his opponent, although it became apparent why he had chosen to fight that way when he said, “You’re lucky that _he’s_ not able to do this, or you’d be a red stain on the floor by now. Did you really think you could kidnap Blackleg Sanji and _not_ end up with a foot in the ass?! I’ll gladly borrow his style since you had the gall to take it away from him.”

Zoro delivered blows one after the other to the writhing marine, kicking him anywhere he could reach without mercy. After a few particularly nasty hits to the groin, he hooked a toe underneath the vice admiral’s midsection and flipped him onto his stomach. “You made twelve cuts on his back, you filthy piece of shit—but I’m a reasonable man, so I’ll let you off with ten cuts—one for each finger-shaped bruise you put on my nakama.”

Sanji watched the flurry of slashes with a strange sense of detachment. He had never seen the swordsman act so coldly, and he was sure that Luffy would disapprove of his first mate’s behaviour, but the blond still wasn’t able to make himself interfere—this was Zoro’s fight, after all, and he had asked him not to. If he were being honest, there was also a part of the cook that didn’t want to stop him anyway.

Finally, after the vice admiral’s screams and pleas had slowly quieted, it was over. Zoro stared down at the dying marine and made the final decision to cut the man’s clothes off in an unashamed act of pettiness. He left him like that—naked, bloody, and paralyzed—facedown beside his own severed hands. The swordsman used a scrap of the ruined uniform to wipe the man’s splattered blood from his face, chest, and arms with a disgusted expression before he wordlessly sheathed his swords, without even bothering to wipe them clean, and walked back towards the disabled cook.

“You look like a little kid playing dress-up—famous Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro,” he commented with a smirk. Sanji just blinked, still too stunned by what he’d just witnessed to respond appropriately— although, it was true since the swordsman’s outfit was much too big for him. 

“I thought you said you were gonna kill him,” he got out, eyeing the twitching body of his enemy from which he could still hear quiet, agonized moans.

“He can lie there and suffer until he bleeds out. The medics won’t be able to save him in time—I made sure of that,” Zoro explained darkly. He still had a blood splatter on his left temple.

“Well shit…I didn’t think you could be so cruel, marimo.”

There was a long pause before Zoro let out a deep sigh and sank down to the cook’s level. His expression softened considerably as he looked at Sanji and quietly said, “I didn’t think I could be either.”

“Then what the hell, idiot-swordsman? I didn’t ask you to do that—you didn’t have to fucking tenderize and fillet the bastard.”

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it because he hurt me.”

“He didn’t even touch you,” Sanji noted in confusion.

“I know,” Zoro told him gently with a wry smile, “but he touched _you_ , Cook.”

The heartfelt words had a strange effect on the blond, whose eye widened comically large, his cheeks flushing a brilliant crimson as the uncharacteristically sweet sentiment washed over him. Sanji opened his mouth to respond but then seemed to think better of it, or perhaps he simply didn’t know what to say. It was clear that the swordsman’s declaration had embarrassed him, but he accepted it in silence and continued to hold the other man’s serious gaze. Before the pause could fill with awkward tension, Zoro turned his back to Sanji and motioned for him to lean forwards.

“Come on. We’ve got to find a place to treat your wounds before you really do pass out. Robin can handle herself—I’ve got a den-den-mushi, so we can contact her after you’ve cleaned up. You don’t want to meet a lady looking like that, do you?”

Sanji was lucky that the swordsman had turned around, otherwise he might have seen the cook’s embarrassing loss of control in that moment—he was so tired that he simply couldn’t suppress his emotions after seeing this side of Zoro. He’d always known that the stoic man could be tender when he wanted to, but that was usually reserved for Chopper or occasionally Luffy. To be on the receiving end of the swordsman’s kindness was not something that Sanji would ever be able to get used to, but he was incredibly grateful to have the privilege of witnessing it firsthand, even if he would never admit it.        

“Thank you,” he muttered, leaning forwards to wrap his arms around Zoro’s neck from behind. The cook didn’t want to risk any more words for fear of breaking down in tears, but he knew that his tight grip on the swordsman could not be mistaken for anything but what it was—a hug. That was all of the gratitude he was willing to offer at the moment, so he was infinitely glad that Zoro chose not to comment on it. Instead, he calmly reached back to grip Sanji under the thighs and lift him onto his back. He must have noticed the trembling in the blond man’s limbs, but he didn’t mention it.

“Sorry that you’ll have to see my knock-off blackleg style—I won’t be able to use my swords while I’m carrying you, so don’t make fun of my kicks if we run into any marines on the way out.”

“Ha! You’re still a hundred years short of measuring up to me in that regard, but I’ll reserve judgement as long as you get us out of here alive, marimo.”

“Cocky bastard.”

“Shitty-swordsman. Try not to jostle me too much,” Sanji told him as his crewmate stood and readjusted the blond’s position.

“What, am I going to hurt your delicate body, Cook?”

“No, but the drug still hasn’t worn off yet, and I doubt that you want to have to add another line to my back,” Sanji snapped grudgingly, stopping the other man in his tracks. He swore that even Zoro’s ears turned red when he figured out what the cook was implying.

“I noticed, but I wasn’t gonna mention it, idiot!”

“So we agree to never speak of it again?”

Zoro nodded quickly and began a purposeful stride towards the exit. He kicked the door open and slipped into the hallway, leaving it wide open behind him. Sanji got a final glimpse of the vice admiral as they turned and started down the hall. He was no longer moving. Some poor marine was going to walk by and find their supervisor in a rather compromising position—the thought made the cook grin with perverse pleasure. He didn’t think he would have been able to do something like that, even after everything the bastard had done to him, but it seemed that Roronoa Zoro was called a demon for a reason.

Sanji decided that he would have to cook a truly spectacular feast for the marimo once this was all over, since he knew that he would never be able to find the words to describe how the swordsman’s actions had touched his heart. He definitely couldn’t let Zoro know how affected he was by the other man’s presence after what had happened to him. The cook honestly believed that his nakama wouldn’t be able to understand, and that was perhaps the saddest part of all.


	2. Stitch Me Up

The two Straw Hat’s made their way out of the marine base with relatively little conflict, finding the nearest hotel with the help of some civilians and Sanji correcting each of Zoro’s wrong turns. The walk thoroughly exhausted him because regardless of how carefully the swordsman moved, the friction caused by each step was only making Sanji’s embarrassing predicament worse until he was sweating from the effort of restraining his heavy panting.

Zoro walked up to the front desk, ignoring the stares he received for his less than presentable passenger, and handed the concierge a thick wad of bills from his pant pocket. “I’d like a room with a comfortable bed for my friend to rest. He isn’t feeling well and doesn’t want to be disturbed,” the swordsman explained with a dangerous glint in his eye. The man at the desk flipped through the stack of cash, which must have contained twice the amount that a room would cost for a night, and calmly handed over a key.

“I’ll have a medical kit sent up shortly,” he replied, completely unfazed by the sketchy transaction.

“With an excessive amount of bandages, please.”

The concierge gave him a polite nod and slipped half the stack of bills into his own pocket. “Enjoy your stay, sirs.”

“Geez, how often do pirates bring half-beaten men into this hotel that the employees don’t even bat an eye when you bribe them to keep their mouths shut?” Sanji commented once Zoro had stepped into an empty elevator.

“Often enough that they’ve learned to just accept it without making a scene.”

“That’s fucked up. Where’d you get all of that money, anyway?”

“Nami. We each got a cut when we split up in case of an emergency. I’ll be in debt until I die, but it’s not like we have any other options. You really do need to rest.”

“Not before I take a fucking bath,” Sanji replied with a shudder. “I’m gonna scrub off a few layers of skin and possibly slit my wrists,” he said darkly.

Zoro came to a halt in front of their room and shot an angry look over his shoulder. “Don’t joke about shit like that,” he snapped angrily, his grip tightening reflexively on Sanji’s thighs. The cook tensed at the action and let out a sound that was halfway between a groan of frustration and an accidental moan.

“Fuck—just get inside and put me down. I can’t take another second of this.”

“Show some restraint, curly. It’ll wear off soon.”

“How the fuck would you know? It comes in waves that can last for hours. Just leave me alone for a bit before I die of blue balls.”

“You’re just gonna have to deal with it until we bandage your wounds, otherwise you really will bleed to death, Cook.”

With a bit of awkward fumbling, Zoro managed to unlock the door and get them both inside. He immediately carried Sanji to the middle of the room and set him down on the pristinely made bed. It was unbelievably comfortable, and the blond might've flopped back and passed out right there had it not been for the crawling sensation of filth coating his entire body. He felt so disgusting that a nap was out of the question before he could wash the blood and grime from his skin. It didn’t help that he could still feel the warm muscles of Zoro’s back in places that he was desperately trying to ignore at the moment. Out of everyone whom he could’ve been stuck in a hotel with—and sporting a raging hard-on that refused to listen to the pleas of his brain—it had to be the marimo.

Just when he thought the situation couldn’t get any more awkward, Zoro said, “I’ll go draw you a bath. I suppose you’ll need help getting into it, huh useless cook?”

Sanji threw an arm over his face to hide his angry blush. “I hate you. You know that, right?”

“You’re welcome, jackass.”

As soon as Zoro had retreated into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, Sanji let out the breath he’d been holding and focused on killing the intense arousal that had become painfully uncomfortable during their walk to the hotel. Every movement—every brush of fabric against his groin—had caused waves of pleasure to roll over him and sent his heartrate skyrocketing. Whatever he’d been drugged with was incredibly powerful, and it didn’t just affect him physically. Even his thoughts seemed to have been hijacked, and it was nearly impossible to focus on anything that wasn’t sexual.

Even the distant sound of water running in the bath only reminded him that he was about to be stripped naked and lifted into it by Zoro. The thought of being subjected to such a mortifying situation was almost too much for the cook to handle because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t separate his arousal from the scene.

He blamed himself. It had been _his_ choice to use an image of the swordsman to help him cope with that bastard’s torture over the past few days, and now he had the misfortune of having to face the real man in an unfortunately intimate setting.

Sanji absolutely had _not_ enjoyed his time with the admiral. He did _not_ like getting fucked by a man—this was a mantra that he’d repeated to himself over and over again while his body had continued to betray him thanks to the effects of the drug. The first time had been the worst, in part because it had obviously hurt like hell but also because of the unexpected discovery that something actually felt _good_ back there. It wasn’t fair—it had made him feel sick inside—but the horrible truth was that he couldn’t stop feeling the pleasure even when he was in pain.

He’d thrown up after the first time, which had only made the sadistic man more determined to force pain and pleasure on him until even Sanji’s nausea had faded away and been replaced with it. That didn’t stop the cook from feeling disgusted by his own reactions, but there was nothing he could do except close off his mind from the reality of the situation and focus on surviving it. He had eventually withdrawn into the realm of fantasy in an effort to cope with the sensations overwhelming him—it had been impossible to imagine away the fact that he was with a man, but he could at the very least focus his pleasure on someone else—someone he trusted implicitly.

Sanji’s mind had then provided him with images of the swordsman, who was admittedly not hard on the eyes, and suddenly the blond had been able to associate all of his pain with the vice admiral while directing his pleasure to a more positive outlet. It was embarrassing, and fucked up, and probably invasive of the other man’s privacy, but it was the only thing that he could do to make it bearable.

In a way, thinking of Zoro had allowed him to believe that it was okay to feel good because pirates did that sort of thing all the time when female companionship was scarce. Sanji had always known that men were an option, but he’d never been desperate enough to actually try it. When that choice had been taken away from him, his only solace had been to consider what sex might be like between two consenting partners, and if he’d _had_ the choice then he would’ve chosen the swordsman. They were nakama, after all, even if they fought like bitter enemies most of the time.

“Oi, Cook.”

Sanji jumped at the sound of Zoro’s voice, much closer than he’d expected. It took a considerable amount of effort to peel his eyes open and lock onto the green-haired man—he must have been on the verge of dozing off despite his uncomfortable state. The swordsman was leaning over him with a concerned expression, which instantly caused another flood of heat to warm the blond’s cheeks since he’d just been wrenched from his erotic thoughts by the one person who was featured in them.

“Nngh?” he replied unintelligibly.

“Are you still with me? Slap yourself in the face and get up before the water gets cold.”

Zoro dragged him into a sitting position and unceremoniously lifted the blond off of the mattress as if he weighed nothing. Sanji growled in annoyance at how the other man just picked him up bridal-style without even asking for permission, but he refrained from voicing a complaint since the position was less stimulating than being carried on his back.

“I swear to God, if you ever tell anybody about this, I will _murder_ you and make it look like an accident.”

“Give me some credit, Cook. I know how to keep a secret.”

He carried the slimmer man into the bathroom and set him down on the edge of the bathtub without another word. Sanji caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and immediately ripped the swordsman’s stupid bandana off his head—he’d forgotten that Zoro had tied it there, and it looked too ridiculous for the fashion-conscious blond to allow it to stay, bleeding head wound or not.

They fell silent as the two off them worked to peel Zoro’s coat off of Sanji’s sticky body. The fabric had gotten into the wounds on his back, which made its removal slow and painful, and the dark-green color had been stained red in various places by fresh blood. The cook was glad that his erection had stayed tucked in the haramaki, so they could rinse his wounds with his modesty still intact.

“Those look really nasty. You can soak while I go check on that medical kit and grab you some food. You must be starving,” he commented, standing to help Sanji into the water. Zoro politely averted his eyes when the cook unhooked the haramaki and tossed it aside, but he did shoot the blond a sideways smirk and said, “Take care of that while I’m gone, will you?”

“Wait,” Sanji told him, turning to brace his arms on the side of the tub and bare his back to the other man. “Before you go…I need you to take care of these.”

“I need the medical supplies to do that, idiot.”

“No, I meant…with your sword.”

Sanji swore he could hear Zoro’s muscles tense behind him. “My…sword?”     

“The cuts are deep enough that they’ll probably scar, so I need you to add a few more to disfigure it,” Sanji explained calmly. “…Please, Zoro.”

“No way!” he said instantly. “You’ve already lost too much blood. I can’t…I _won’t_ hurt my nakama with my own sword—she isn’t meant to be used like that.”

“Oh, so you were fine with breaking my ribs at Thriller Bark using the hilt, but your blade is too precious to spill my blood?!” he snapped back, twisting around to glare at the swordsman. It was a low blow, bringing up that particular situation, but he had no choice if Zoro was going to be stubborn about it. “What about the blade you got from Ryuma? Aren’t samurai all about honor and loyalty? I’m asking you to do it so man-up and use Shusui. I don’t want to walk around with that fucking word on my back!”

Zoro flinched at the harshness in his tone, his fists shaking at his sides. The look in his eyes was something that Sanji would never be able to describe. It was more than anguished—the swordsman looked positively miserable. He put his face in his hands and let out a frustrated growl, running his fingers roughly through his green hair.

“Fuck…fine. I’ll do it, but—damn it, this isn’t fair!” he raged, surprising Sanji with the force of his anger. “I hate that fucking bastard so much! How dare he do something like that to you—any of it? I want to kill him ten more times and then once more for good measure!”

“Just forget about it. He’s dead.”

“ _No._ I’ll never forget,” Zoro said stubbornly, gripping Shusui’s hilt and drawing the sword from its saya. His hand was trembling, but he quickly steadied it as he approached Sanji with new conviction. “Hold onto the edge and don’t move. I’m gonna have to make them just as deep.”

“Do it,” Sanji said, hunching his back and mentally preparing himself. Although he’d already been cut twelve times, it wasn’t a feeling that he could get used to, but he knew that Zoro would be sharing the pain with him this time.

He flinched when he felt a warm hand settle firmly on his shoulder. If Zoro had placed it there in an attempt to comfort him or to hold him still then the gesture was having the opposite effect. Sanji could feel its heat permeating his skin and setting his nerves on fire, and his fingers were clenching the bathtub’s rim so hard that his knuckles had gone white. He forced himself to feign normalcy and refrain from squirming under the pleasurable assault on his senses.

“This is gonna hurt like hell, Cook.”

Sanji gasped at the sound of Zoro’s deep voice so close to his ear and promptly bit down on his lip, drawing blood. The swordsman leaned in until his breath tickled the cook’s skin, causing another wave of pleasure that shook his entire frame. Zoro ignored this and placed the length of his blade over the old cuts, dragging it quickly through the flesh to ruin the carefully carved lettering. To his shock, Sanji’s body responded as if it had been conditioned to react positively to the pain of his skin being sliced. In retrospect, it made sense that he would connect the two feelings, since he’d received each one of those cuts during an orgasm.

The cook held on for dear life as Zoro continued to add lines over the cuts that were already there. Each touch of the blade forced another tremble, but Sanji repressed them as best he could since the swordsman had told him to stay still. He could feel fresh blood dripping down his oversensitive skin, but even that sensation was misinterpreted by his body, which swore that it was Zoro’s finger’s trailing down his spine. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, hurry the hell up!_ he chanted internally, because the pain was less torturous than the insistent need to come. If Zoro didn’t stop touching him soon, he was going to—

“ _Ah!_ Sh-shit!” he cried, unconsciously arching his back as he spilled his arousal into the bathwater. It happened so fast that he hadn’t been able to hold it in. His entire face was flaming, and he knew that the furious blush would spread to his ears and neck where Zoro could see. He froze instantly and felt the blade against his back do the same.

“D-did you just…?”

“DON’T. SAY IT. I’ll _kill_ you!” Sanji snapped, but the menacing tone he was going for was entirely ruined by post-orgasm breathlessness. He felt Zoro slowly move his sword aside and heard him set it against the bathroom wall.

“I…I’m just gonna apologize in advance…” the swordsman said with poorly concealed amusement. There was a single beat of silence before he promptly burst into raucous, side-stitching laughter that filled the entire room and seemed to shake the walls with the force of his mirth. He tried to speak but was laughing so hard that his words were interrupted by fits of what could only be described as manly giggles. “I didn’t know…that you were…such a masochist, pervert-cook!”

“I—I’m not! It’s the drug, moron! If anyone’s a masochist, it’s _you,_ you goddamn sword-freak! Always getting yourself hurt and trying to play off every injury like it’s nothing, and—IT ISN’T FUNNY!”

The cook turned around to find Zoro literally rolling on the floor like a maniac. He was holding his sides and wheezing from the effort of laughing, which had even managed to draw out tears. It was by far the most childish reaction Sanji had ever seen from him, and the sight was enough to make him smile even though he was still seething.

“I’m—no…I’m not sorry, Cook. That was fucking _hilarious_ ,” Zoro insisted, managing to calm himself down long enough to roll into a seated position and wipe the moisture from his eyes. He looked at Sanji as casually as he could and nearly lost it again at the sight of the blond’s comically irritated expression. “Your entire face is the color of a ripe tomato.”

“Fuck you. Fuck your swords. Fuck this drug—STOP LAUGHING!”

“God, you are _so_ lucky that I promised not to tell anyone about this.”

“Just go and get me some goddamn food before I rethink my no-hands policy and strangle you to death!” Sanji shouted, slumping against the side of the tub. He was beyond exhausted after all of that, but a part of him didn’t even care that he felt ready to pass out because if he drowned in the bathwater then he’d never have to deal with the stupid marimo again.

“Alright, I’m going. Let me lay a towel over the cuts first so that you can lean back and keep pressure on it. Those will be a bitch to stitch—are you gonna blow another load while I’m sewing you up, Cook?”

“GET. OUT.”

Zoro’s laughter could be heard all of the way into the hall.

***

“Cook…Oi, Sanji! Shit…don’t fucking die on me now, you idiot!”

“Mmph?” Sanji murmured unintelligibly as his mind slowly returned to consciousness. He finally registered the distressed tone of voice coming from beside his ear as well as the fact that he was freezing from the waist up. His lower half was still submerged in water, while his exposed skin shivered at the wonderful heat surrounding his shoulders.

“Come on, shitty-cook! What kind of loser pirate almost drowns himself in a fucking bathtub?!” Zoro exclaimed half-indignantly and half-panicked.

“Ugh…stop shouting, marimo. ‘m tired…” he responded sluggishly, having finally recognized the source of the voice as his irritating nakama. A second later, his mind caught up with what his body was feeling, and he automatically jerked away from the swordsman’s touch. Almost immediately, he curled over himself as screaming pain flared along the multitude of wounds covering his body, face paling at the uncomfortable sensation of shifting his weight onto his ass—it hurt like a _motherfucker,_ and it reminded him why he had passed out in the first place.

A wave of nausea rolled over him at the sudden flood of memories from the past three days, prompting Zoro to catch hold of his shoulders again in an attempt to support his crumpling weight. Something akin to a gasp slipped out of his mouth, and his cheeks flushed at the contrastingly pleasant feeling of warmth spreading through him.

“Goddammit...stop touching me—it hasn’t worn off yet,” he warned the other man awkwardly.

“Sorry, but I’m not letting go until I’m sure that you’re not going to slip into the fucking water,” Zoro said firmly, looking anywhere but at him.

“I’m _fine_ …see?” Sanji demonstrated, gripping the edges of the bathtub and straightening out.

“You’re definitely not fine, idiot. I probably should’ve considered how dangerously low on blood you are, but I was only gone for a few minutes, so I didn’t expect to come back and find you half-dead. The medical kit was outside the door, but I also got you something to eat. Here,” he explained apologetically, producing a styrofoam plate from beside him with a large, Saran-wrapped sandwich on it.       

Sanji perked up at the mention of food and instantly began salivating the the mouth. “Fuck—give it here,” he snapped, reaching for the wonderful, albeit offensively plain, meal.

Without further ado, he ripped the packaging open and tossed it aside before shoving the sandwich into his mouth. It tasted a lot better than it looked, but that was likely the days worth of food deprivation talking. He practically inhaled it, causing Zoro to stare in bemusement at his uncharacteristic disregard for table manners.

“Don’t look at me like that, you damn hypocrite,” Sanji grumbled through a mouthful of food.

“Hey, I’m not judging—it’s just so weird to see you act like a normal person for once.”

“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Just that you’re always so damn reserved in everything you do—it’s like you’re a robot that was programmed to be the ultimate gentleman. Sometimes I wonder if I even know who you are because all I’ve ever seen is that perfectly constructed appearance…doesn’t it ever get tiresome? I know it does for me to watch,” Zoro told him in his usual blunt fashion. He was lucky that Sanji was so hungry, otherwise he might have thrown the remainder of his sandwich at the stupid swordsman’s face.

“What the hell? You’re one to talk, Mr. Demon of the East Blue. Do you really think you’re any different from me?”

“Yeah. I always say exactly what I mean, and I don’t change for anybody, but you’re constantly trying to please everyone, so you never talk about what _you_ want to do.”

“Bullshit. I certainly don’t go out of my way to please _you._ Why do you care anyway? I can do whatever the fuck I want, and I definitely don’t want to sit here and listen to a lecture from a man who’s that much in denial about himself.”

“I’m just saying that you don’t have to be so closed-off all of the time—and what the fuck do I have to be in denial about?” Zoro asked him annoyedly.

“Do you really think that your stoic, self-sacrificing tough-guy persona is any less of an act than how I am? You pretend just as much as I do to be an unshakable badass, but nobody is that strong. You're trying to cope with all of the insane, life-threatening shit that we have to deal with on a daily basis just like the rest of us—just because you choose to handle it differently doesn’t mean that you have any right to call me out on doing the same thing,” Sanji snapped, surprising the swordsman with this admission.

“So you admit that you hide behind your fancy suits and foul mouth?”

“Fuck off, I am who I am—and that includes what I appear to be. Do you think I _shouldn’t_ act this way? Should I have fucking cried at my misfortune and let that bastard marine break my will? I will _never_ let my enemies see weakness—I’m a Straw Hat pirate,” he growled fiercely.

“Of course you shouldn't, but your nakama are not your enemy. If I asked you right now how you really feel after what you just went through, you would _lie_ to me, Sanji. I know you would.”

The cook paled at this, and suddenly the food in his mouth tasted sour. He swallowed the last bite and grated his teeth angrily, not wanting to admit that the other man was right. He would never have revealed what was going through his mind after Zoro found him like that, nor anything else that he was feeling with the swordsman there, partly because he would be too embarrassed if Zoro found out about his twisted, newly discovered attraction for him but also because he simply didn’t want to be seen as weak—not even by his nakama.

“That’s why you didn’t ask, isn’t it? You already know the answer. Asking would just force me to lie when I don’t have to.”

“You don’t have to lie at all. I’m not here to judge you, and I don’t think you’re weak, but this…this isn’t something you can hide. You _shouldn’t_ have to hide it.”

Sanji shot him a dangerous glare, his mouth grimacing in silent warning. “No one else can know about this,” he said firmly. “You promised that you wouldn't say anything. I can’t—I just… _can’t_ , Zoro.”

“I know. That’s why you have to trust me. I’m worried that you’re going to try to pretend like nothing happened after this, but…it’ll eat away at you—especially if you don’t talk about it.”

“Do you want to hold my fucking hand while I cry on your shoulder or something?! I don’t want to _talk_ about it—least of all with you. I’m sorry if that offends you, but you—you won’t understand.”

“You’re wrong, Cook,” Zoro told him seriously, forcing the other man to meet his gaze. “I _do_ understand.”

Sanji’s eyes widened in surprise when he realized the heavy implication that was being conveyed through the swordsman’s eyes, and he instantly rejected the idea as impossible. There was no way that Zoro had ever experienced something like this. He didn’t have the kind of weakness that Sanji did—even without his swords, the man was anything but helpless.

“You…can’t mean—”

“Yeah,” Zoro said briskly. “When I was eight. I was an orphan before I started living at the dojo where I learned swordsmanship. There are a lot of places in the world where it isn’t safe for a kid to be wandering around on their own,” he explained matter-of-factly.

Sanji was struck dumb. He couldn’t believe it—simply couldn’t reconcile what the swordsman was telling him with the image of the man he was looking at now. His stomach churned violently at the notion, and he suddenly wanted to scream, and curse, and cry all at once.

Zoro had gone through something as horrible as that when he was just a kid? Sure, the cook had had his fair share of traumatic experiences, but he never would’ve imagined that the greenhaired man had a skeleton like _that_ in his closet. Zoro always talked so openly about his past whenever their nakama had asked about it, unlike Sanji, who admittedly shied away from revealing anything besides the bare minimum about himself and where he came from.

“I know what it’s like to want to make a memory go away, and I also know that there are consequences to pretending. We’re in this together now, Cook, so don’t shut me out.”

“I…I’m sorry…” Sanji said weakly. “I shouldn’t have assumed…I mean…”

“It’s fine.”

“…and you were the one who found me. Shit, this is a whole new level of fucked up.”

“Tell me about it. I’m just glad that I _did_ find you. The whole crew was going crazy with worry. I should call Robin and have her relay the message that you’re alright, but I think we should sew you up first. In retrospect, that really should’ve been our priority,” Zoro told him wryly. “Think you can control your base instincts this time, pervert-Cook?”

Sanji flushed, stuttering over his words due to the confusion of being thrown so rapidly from one type of conversation to the next. One minute they were joking, then they were picking a fight and yelling at one another, then the swordsman had dropped _that_ fucking bomb, and now he was back to making fun of him again? It was so dizzying that Sanji really thought he might puke.

“Watch how you talk to me, shitty swordsman. I could kill you a hundred ways with my hands tied behind my back,” he said finally, deciding to follow Zoro’s example and attempt to lighten the depressing mood.

“Oh yeah? ‘Cuz I think that’s a pretty empty threat coming from someone who can’t even wiggle his toes.”

“Fuck off, moss-head. I’m gonna be dreaming about the most painful ways to end your pathetic life tonight, so you’d better sleep with one eye open. God help you when this shit wears off,” Sanji warned him with an evil grin.

“Are you sure your drugged-up brain isn’t gonna be too distracted by wet dreams to be plotting my murder, pervert-cook?”

“One swift kick to the Adam’s apple, and I’ll snap your neck like a twig, or I could hook a leg around your head and twist it off like I'm opening a beer bottle. If I were feeling particularly nasty, I might pin you down and suffocate you with your own arm just to prolong your suffering…”

Zoro smacked a towel into Sanji’s face, muffling his quiet stream of threats. “Hurry up and dry off so I can bandage you up and tuck you into bed, invalid.”

“My legs have enough strength to crush your skull like a ripe watermelon—but that would get messy if your head explodes, and you’re not worth ruining a perfectly good pair of pants. I’ll have to kill you from the inside out instead—kick you so hard in the side that your appendix bursts. I hear that’s a particularly painful way to die…”

Zoro rolled his eyes, leaving the cook alone with his mutterings so that he could drain the bathwater and cover up before the swordsman tackled the enormous task of tending to his wounds. He tried not to smirk _too_ wickedly when he remembered Sanji’s surprised gasp as he’d accidentally orgasmed under Shusui’s blade, but he figured that it was probably better to appreciate the humour of it rather than think about how badly he wished he could hear the cook making that noise in a very different situation.

 _It’s official,_ he thought to himself, failing miserably at suppressing the images that immediately flooded his mind. _I’m a complete hypocrite for calling him a pervert. What the fuck is wrong with me?_ he wondered—for the second time since he’d found the cook. He was disgusted by his own lack of control but also unsurprised by it since he’d never had much self-control when it came to the cook—so much of his focus usually went into concealing his honest attraction to the other man.

Sanji had been right to call him out on pretending to be so aloof all of the time because it took an extreme amount of effort for Zoro to constantly feign disinterest around him. _That d_ _amn cook…ending up in a situation like this…I won’t be able to forget it for as long as I live._

The worst part was that a small, selfish part of him couldn’t help but be grateful, simply because he was able to take care of Sanji and show him that he actually _did_ care. Tragedies often brought people together, so even if Zoro was certain that the other man couldn’t reciprocate his feelings, it was more than enough to just be able to support him. Now they each shared the other’s greatest secret, and that fact had created a different kind of bond between them.

The cook and the swordsman were both so exhausted from the stressful events of the day that neither man complained when they finished wrapping Sanji’s wounds and their tired limbs refused to move from the small, single bed. They fell asleep side-by-side, finding comfort in the simple sound of the other’s steady breathing, because it was proof that they were both alive to fight another day.


	3. Dreams and Nightmares

The following day was certainly eventful, beginning with an awkward awakening when the effects of the drug finally wore off and Sanji discovered that he had thoroughly entangled himself with the swordsman in his sleep—something that he couldn’t remember ever doing before. After apologizing more times than was remotely necessary to an unconcerned, half-conscious Zoro, the two of them fell into silence until the swordsman could inspect the other man’s wounds and redress them.

Then there had been a rude interruption from some marines, who had apparently been tipped off by the shady hotel staff about the two injured pirates staying there. Unfortunately for them, even if Sanji’s legs had still been paralyzed, Zoro was more than capable of taking them all on by himself. To the cook’s annoyance, he insisted on defeating the marines alone since the unnecessary strain would only cause more work for Chopper once they returned to the ship.

 _Then_ there had been a subsequent fight between the two Straw Hats because Sanji was still sensitive to being treated like he was weak, and Zoro kept insisting that he should rest until Robin arrived. Twenty minutes later, they waltzed out of the considerably damaged hotel room to meet Robin halfway to the docks, leaving the soiled bandages in a haphazard pile in the middle of the white, unmade bedsheets, and looking every bit like the vicious pirates that the double-crossing concierge assumed them to be.   

Luckily, the rest of the crew had arrived in enough time to clear a path of enemies for Sanji, Zoro, and Robin to get through on the way to the Sunny, so the cook didn’t have to overexert himself during the escape. Everyone was overjoyed to see their nakama return safely, though many of them worried over the blond’s sorry state. Although the stolen hotel robe covered the extent of his injuries, even the resiliant cook wasn’t able to completely disguise the pain and fatigue he was feeling after such an ordeal.

The worst part of the reunion turned out to be Luffy’s reaction. Sanji would not have been surprised to be dragged bodily into the galley and tethered to the stove until he cooked something for their gluttonous captain, but he never would have expected the intense, penetrating gaze that he received instead. Luffy had hung back while the rest of the crew enveloped Sanji in hugs and warm welcomes, secretly scrutinizing his cook’s demeanor. It seemed that their famously oblivious captain was not as unobservant as the blond would have hoped because he had immediately sensed a change in the other man.

“Is he really okay?” Luffy asked the swordsman while everyone else was distracted.

“He’ll be okay,” Zoro answered with more certainty than he felt. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll take care of him.”

Luffy nodded firmly, his mouth set in a grim line, before finally approaching the overwhelmed cook. To Sanji’s surprise, he wasn’t crushed into a painful bear-hug and then ushered immediately into the kitchen. Instead, Luffy walked up and held him with uncharacteristic gentleness, burying his face in the taller man’s collar. He stood like that until Sanji confusedly returned the embrace.

“I’m sorry, Sanji,” he said carefully, leaning back and piercing the cook with understanding eyes.

“Luffy…”

He couldn’t finish the response because a sudden wave of sadness and shame stole the words right out of his mouth. His captain had no idea what had happened to him, but somehow he still  _knew_ —he knew something had happened that was too terrible for the cook to speak of. Sanji swallowed thickly, forcing back the sudden sting of tears.

“Thanks,” he replied simply, offering the black-haired boy a half-smile.

“Sanji?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Don’t be mean to Zoro, okay?” he said quickly, turning abruptly on his heel to rejoin the rest of the crew and shout something about eating meat. Sanji stared at Luffy’s retreating back before glancing in the swordsman’s direction just as the other man happened to glance at him. The cook’s face flushed slightly—he hoped it wasn’t noticeable from this distance—and he wondered why their captain would say such a thing after all this time with Sanji and Zoro constantly at each other’s throats.

The two of them shared a brief moment of tense silence before the swordsman nodded his head towards the galley in a gesture that clearly said, “Stop staring and go make us something to eat.” Sanji decided to comply, if only to procrastinate the inevitable overreaction from their reindeer doctor and perhaps butter him up with a good meal before he learned about Sanji’s condition. He absolutely could not reveal the truth about what had happened, but he would still have to explain some of the situation during the medical treatments and prayed that Zoro’s swords had disfigured his back enough to conceal the horrible word underneath.

Remembering that particular favour brought a slew of inappropriate thoughts to his mind, and he hastened to escape into the galley before his darkening blush gave him away. _I’ve got to get it the fuck together,_ he thought, angry with himself for his childishness. _I can’t keep thinking of him that way. It isn’t right. He’d cut my balls off if he knew…_

Despite the moral complications, Sanji was unable to completely forget the things he’d thought and felt about the swordsman during the past few days. It haunted him whenever he so much as looked at Zoro, and he quickly decided that he wasn’t going to masturbate until he could be sure that a compromising image of the other man wouldn’t crop up in his fantasies. Thankfully, he hadn’t felt any desire to touch himself lately.

In fact, it was as if the repeated build-up and release that he’d experienced under the effects of the drug had completely depleted his libido. He didn’t even get morning wood for the next three days, which couldn’t be healthy—not that he was going to confirm that with Chopper (shudders). The little doctor already had his hands full tending to the cook’s wounds, though he’d been surprisingly calm about the situation. Like Luffy, he seemed to sense that the cook didn’t want to talk about it and accepted the simple explanation that Sanji had been held prisoner at a marine base.

Before the week was done, his physical health had improved immensely and most of his wounds had closed up. The real problems came once the exhausted cook had overcome his sleep-deprivation—it had been impossible to get a good night’s rest hanging from a ceiling or lying on fresh wounds, so he’d slept like a log for the majority of the second week.

Then the dreams and nightmares had stared coming, or more accurately, dreams that turned _into_ nightmares. It probably hadn’t been a good idea to continue denying himself sexual satisfaction because every dream typically started the same way—with Zoro doing something incredibly enticing. Sometimes they would even begin with a fight between the two of them, but it would always escalate into the close pressing of bodies, and firm grips in intimate places, before their clothes started coming off.

He wanted to die of embarrassment, even though nobody but himself knew about the dreams. It wasn’t like he could tell anyone, even if the fact that he was fantasizing about having sex with Zoro hadn’t bothered him, because the dreams never _stayed_ dreams. They became nightmares of the worst kind, rivalling anything his subconscious had conjured up in the past. The cook had been through a lot of terrible experiences, but something about this one seemed to have embedded itself in his soul like a nasty thorn, seeping its poison into the deepest parts of him.

Traumatic was an understatement. Not only did he constantly relive the worst parts about his time with that bastard marine, but he didn’t even have the solace of imagining Zoro in the other man’s place. The dreams would always start off amazingly vivid and pleasant—the swordsman’s hands were his favourite part of the fantasies because the scenes were so real that it seemed like he was actually being touched, caressed, or squeezed with his wonderfully strong grip—but there would always come a point when the blissful lust turned into horrified disgust.

 _He_ would take _Zoro’s_ place, or else it was a faceless stranger with a needle full of something almost comically terrifying. Once, it was even someone who had the same cruel smile as his siblings who had tormented him as a child—he’d repressed _that_ particular detail and shoved it into the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind. The mind really was an amazing entity that could be both the initiator of your worst imaginings as well as the glorious vault where said horrors were locked away in the subconscious.

Truly, the methods with which his own mind terrorized him were limitless, and what’s worse was that the crew had started to notice. No one had mentioned hearing any embarrassing sex noises coming from him in the middle of the night, but Sanji almost wished that were the case. Instead, he was constantly waking up his crewmates with startled screams and panicked gasps after he was jolted out of increasingly disturbing nightmares.

No one ever asked him about it, and Sanji was convinced that either Zoro or Luffy had told them not to. After a month of ignoring the problem, the mental strain was beginning to affect his everyday activities—poor Usopp received a stack of pancakes in which one patty miraculously contained a single toothpick. The cook couldn’t even remember using toothpicks during the breakfast preparation, which was all the more concerning. He was contemplating how he could have made such an awful mistake when the swordsman wandered into the galley, pausing upon seeing him standing there and glaring angrily at a closed cupboard door.

“Um…”

“God _dammit,_ I don’t even know why I would _need_ toothpicks for pancakes! It’s not like I need to check if they’re cooked—I _know_ when they’re cooked!”

“What…? Have you gone completely squirrelly, curly?”

“Get the fuck out of my galley, moss-head, or I’ll put a toothpick in you!” Sanji growled wildly, pacing back and forth in front of the counter like a caged animal.

Zoro put his hands up in a placating gesture to indicate that he wasn’t there to start a fight. “Don’t kick me for asking this, but are you doing okay? You’ve been…you know…”

Sanji sighed, his shoulders drooping defeatedly. There was no point in denying his mental unbalance when Zoro had just caught him shouting at a cupboard. He untied his apron and threw it into the sink, lighting up a cigarette and dropping into the closest chair.

“Don’t you have a personal rule against smoking where people eat?” Zoro asked, which was completely true but currently the least of the cook’s concerns.

“…How…how the hell did you do it?”

“Do what?” the swordsman replied, confused by his non-sequitur.

“How does anybody just…go on…after…” he trailed off, ignoring the ash that fell onto his pants as he smoked absently and stared at an uninteresting spot on the galley wall.

Zoro mimicked his sigh and took a seat opposite the cook. “I told you that you couldn’t just ignore it, idiot. You’ve never had nightmares this bad,” he commented seriously.

 “Yeah…sorry about that, by the way. I know that you’re the only one who hasn’t gotten used to my nightly disturbances. Everyone else just goes right back to sleep.”

“It’s not like it's your fault. I’d be able to do that too if I didn’t care—not that the others _don’t_ care _,_ I just mean—”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sanji interrupted, ending his staring match with the wall to finally look at his crewmate. “How did you deal with it?”

Surprisingly, Zoro seemed reluctant to offer advice, even though he’d done everything short of threatening the cook not to shut him out if the trauma from his experience overwhelmed him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, refusing to meet the cook’s eyes. “…Everyone is different,” he said finally. “What worked for me won’t work for you. You should start with talking about how you feel after everything that happened—think about _why_ you feel that way—and then we can figure out where to go from there.”

“Well, what worked for you? I know it’s not the same, but…”

“No, it’s not. _We’re_ not the same.”

“Is it that bad? Did you hunt the fucker down and gut him or something?” Sanji asked, only half-jokingly considering how the swordsman had reacted after finding the cook.

“I probably would have if I’d known who he was,” he admitted. “It…wasn’t exactly a conventional method—much less healthy than therapy.”

“Are you gonna tell me or not?” Sanji pressed, annoyed by the constant beating around the bush. He couldn’t imagine that it would be a big deal, whatever it was.

“I’m not sure I should. Actually, I definitely shouldn’t. Can’t you just drop it?”

“I guess so, but then it’s kind of unfair for you to ask me to spill _my_ guts.”

“Bastard. Fine, but I’ll kick your ass if you judge me for it.”

“I’m listening, oh wise guru.”

“Shut up, loser. I told you, it’s the opposite of what you’d expect. I spent years trying to forget about what happened, convinced that I was strong enough to leave the past behind me, but it wasn’t so easy to ignore after puberty hit. I realized that sex was…undesirable. It was difficult to be intimate with someone and not remember—well, obviously I hadn’t dealt with how it made me feel, which came back to haunt me years later.”

“Dirty,” Sanji stated dryly, taking a deep inhale of nicotine.

“Like a stain you can’t wash out,” Zoro agreed, surprising the cook by reaching over to pluck the cigarette from Sanji’s fingers and take a drag. “I realized that because I hadn’t been able to understand what was happening at the time, I couldn’t separate the negative memories from the act itself. It took me years to even decide how I wanted to handle the issue.”

“So, what did you do?”

“You’ll be surprised.”

“Just tell me already. I promise not to be mean,” he said, remembering Luffy’s odd request.

“You’ll probably think that I’m psychotic and kick my ass,” Zoro told him with an infuriating smirk, clearly dragging the conversation out with the express intention of pissing the blond off.

“I’m about ten seconds away from doing just that.”

“Fine, fine…I let someone else do it to me, alright?”

Sanji just stared at him, certain he’d either heard wrong or had grossly misunderstood. “You…what?”

“I had sex with a man. Paid for it and everything. Total secrecy, private venue, and no need for the awkward trying-to-pretend-you-know-what-you’re-doing-when-you-don’t-have-a-fucking-clue phase.”

“You’re _kidding,_ ” the cook said, accidentally dropping his lit cigarette onto the table in his shock.

“Pretty messed up, isn’t it? But it worked. I had a positive experience to use as a comparison, and it didn’t hurt as much to think about what I’d been through. Nothing can replace a memory like that, but it helped to know that that kind of intimacy could be enjoyable in a different context. I even went back to that establishment once or twice—he was good at his job. Is that enough information for you, Cook?”

“I-I don’t…I mean, how…?”

“Now you want to know how?” Zoro teased. “I would’ve thought that a sex-crazed idiot like you—even a notorious womanizer—would at least know _how_ it’s done.”

Sanji was imploding internally at this revelation, but not because he thought that Zoro’s solution was fucked up. Instead, he was struggling to comprehend the notion that Roronoa Zoro fucked guys… _willingly_. A million questions were streaming through his head, and it was suddenly twice as difficult to reign in his overactive libido. The swordsman had said that he went back after the first time, but was that the end of it? Did he get over his insecurities and start having sex with other people? Men _and_ women? One or the other? No one?

“Jesus, you look like your trying to figure out the meaning of life. It’s not that big a deal,” Zoro commented awkwardly. He was avoiding the blond’s eyes and had apparently also found the appeal in staring at the galley wall.

Abruptly, the cook got to his feet, planting his hands on the table to hide the slight tremor running through them. He couldn’t let his mind get carried away with this information—not in front of Zoro. It would be the height of dishonor if he belittled such an enormous confession by making it about himself. Sanji had accepted the fact that ever since he’d opened his mind to the idea of having sex with the swordsman, he’d developed a strong attraction to the other man. Fantasy was one thing, reality was another. He wanted to experience that pleasure for real—on his own terms—and his current obsession (if the good parts of his dreams were anything to go by) happened to be Zoro.

He needed to seriously think about this and decide if he could, and should, tell the other man that he had these desires. Once he realized the necessity of a clear-headed analysis of the situation, the cook knew that he was _not_ going to accomplish it with Zoro sitting two feet from him while they were trying to address Sanji’s own insecurities.

“I’m sorry, I think I need to figure out some things for myself before I dump it all on you,” he said sheepishly, sweeping the burnt cigarette and ashes onto the floor. “I swear I’m not trying to weasel my way out of talking about it…I just need more time.”

Zoro shrugged, not seeming the least bit put-out about having just revealed a deeply personal detail about himself for nothing in return—it wasn’t a contest, after all. Rather, he was impressively calm about Sanji’s sudden change in attitude. “Do whatever you think is best, Cook. Contrary to how I might have made it seem, I’m not gonna force you to talk if you really don’t want to.”

“I know, but I do understand why I need to. I can’t let this affect my performance on the crew—there was a _toothpick_ of _mysterious origins_ in my fucking _pancakes_!” he said manically.

Zoro stood up with an amused chuckle, shaking his head exasperatingly as he excused himself from the cook’s space. Sanji watched the door as it closed behind him, thinking that he was really starting to like the deep, rumbling sound of Zoro’s laugh. He suddenly realized that he was lucky to have the privilege of hearing it, since someone as stoic as the swordsman would likely only show that side of himself to his nakama. The reassuring thing was that the cook knew, no matter what might happen between them, it would always be more than enough.

***

Another week passed, and the dreams/nightmares kept coming. Sanji spent more time than he’d ever admit contemplating his attraction to the swordsman, but there were too many unpredictable factors for him to even consider bringing the issue to the other man. Instead, he continued ignoring his nightly terrors and perfecting his façade of normalcy during the day, though he was sure that there were at least two people on the crew who weren’t fooled—Luffy smiled exclusively whenever he was talking to Sanji, as if he could literally force his own well-being onto him, and the cook would often catch Zoro staring with a poorly masked expression of concern.

The breaking point came while they were docked at a new island, which was fortunate because it gave the cook and the swordsman an excuse to stay behind on the ship—Zoro to stand watch, and Sanji to complete the kitchen inventory. Even though the swordsman was likely expecting him to bring up their previous conversation, he opted for the cowardly approach and avoided the confrontation, going so far as to take a nap after dinner.

This turned out to be a mistake because he awoke from a particularly bad nightmare, yelling something unintelligible and shaking in a cold sweat. He tried to motivate himself to get up and do _something_ other than wallowing in misery with the images of knives and chains floating around his head, but he didn’t want to run into Zoro looking like he’d just come out of that fucking marine’s room. He tried to compose himself and must have fallen into some sort of catatonic stupor because the next thing he knew, Zoro was trying to shake him out of it, and the cook could barely understand the other man’s words over the distressed sounds that were forcing their way out of his body.

Later he would deny that the swordsman had ever found him like that, whimpering and crying fresh tears as his concerned crewmate attempted to console him. Sanji wasn’t sure how long it took for him to register Zoro’s hands on his shoulders, but when he did, he instinctively shoved the other man away.

“Don’t touch me!” he snapped, rubbing his own hands over the places where he’d been touched as if he could wipe the feeling away. He was still only semi-coherent, so he was sure that any minute the swordsman’s hands would become _his_ hands. The memories made his skin crawl all over again, and he wanted very badly to kick something.

“Sanji, what’s the matter? Were you sleeping before I came in? I heard you shout—”

“Just go away,” he growled, struggling into a seated position. “I don’t need you!”

Even though the cook insisted he was fine, he nearly toppled out of his hammock trying to right himself. Zoro reached out to steady him, only to be instinctively rejected. Sanji jerked away from his touch, breathing hard while paradoxically not breathing at all until he started to feel lightheaded.

“You’re going to hyperventilate. You need to calm down, Cook. Look at me,” Zoro pressed, hands balled uselessly at his sides.

Sanji did, training his eyes on the swordsman’s broad chest to match his breathing as best he could with its rise and fall. Slowly he came back to himself and was immediately immersed in angry embarrassment—anger at himself for not being able to tell the difference between a dream and reality. Zoro knelt in front of him, seeming unsure of what to do, so he settled for waiting patiently until the episode was over.

Except it _wasn’t_ over, and suddenly the cook couldn’t control the flow of his tears nor the words pouring out of his mouth. “I—I’m s-sorry. It’s just—you’re not helping. I know you want to but you can’t. You can’t because I don’t know if it’s you or _him_. Can you…can you just go?” he asked desperately. Until the aftermath of his nightmare faded, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still asleep—the dreams sometimes started with Zoro comforting him, after all.

“I would leave if Chopper were here to watch you, but he isn’t. You shouldn’t be alone in this state. You aren’t making sense, Cook.”

“Please, Zoro. You’re always in the dreams. I just—I just need to wake up. It’ll go away soon, and I’ll be fine.”

There was a significant pause before the swordsman quietly asked, “What do you mean I’m always in the dreams? You’re scared out of your mind…”

The cook didn’t answer when he trailed off. “Sanji, is that—is that why you don’t want me to touch you?” he asked blankly.

Without thinking, the cook said, “Yes. Please just go.”

Zoro went rigid, his face instantly paling. “Is this because of what I told you last week in the galley? You think I might…”

Sanji wiped his face, not registering the swordsman’s words until he suddenly stood up and took two steps backward. His entire body was shaking, and he looked like he might be sick—the expression of open hurt on his face shocked the cook back into focus, but he couldn’t overcome his confusion quickly enough to reply. Zoro had already turned and begun a brisk walk from the room. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” he said stiffly, slamming the door behind him in his haste.

It slowly dawned on the blond that he had just created a terrible misunderstanding. Zoro thought that he didn’t want to be touched because the swordsman had sex with men—he might even think that Sanji’s nightmares were about _him_ instead of the marine.

 _Holy shit…the look on his face…_ the cook thought, horrified. Perhaps ten seconds passed before a sudden wave of anger overwhelmed every other emotion. It filled him to the tips of his fingers and toes, making the previous urge to kick something insignificant by comparison.

The cook shot up and ran out of the room, stopping by the galley to see if Zoro was inside. When he didn’t find the other man there, he went back to the deck and made his way to the crow’s nest—the likely hiding place for a missing marimo. His anger continued to swell as he climbed the rigging and slammed the hatch open, scrambling into the swordsman’s domain with the intent of putting a Zoro-shaped dent in the wall. He was so angry that he didn’t speak before marching up to the other man and planting a hard kick in the middle of his stomach.

“What the—hell?!” he got out, stumbling back a step with a surprised grunt. He managed to dodge the next hit, even though Sanji had taken him completely off-guard. They hadn’t fought like this in weeks, probably because Zoro had been afraid of hurting him—the realization only made the cook angrier, giving him the motivation to lash out with another well-placed blow.

“You…bastard!” he growled, abandoning his kicks to launch himself bodily at the other man and drive him into the wall. He twisted two fists in the swordsman’s collar and shook him roughly, knocking his head back against the wood. “What are you fucking moping about, huh?! Do you really think I’m afraid of _you?!_ ” he raged, shaking Zoro once more for good measure.

The swordsman looked more startled than ever, his eyes wide and hands raised in an uncharacteristic display of surrender. “Don’t do this—I don’t want to fight,” he said calmly, though his voice was shaking nearly imperceptibly.

“I’m not going to fucking break, Zoro! Stop talking to me like I’m weak!”

“Just calm down for a min—”

“ _No!_ ” he yelled in his face. “You’re going to fucking listen to me. What kind of person do you think I am, huh? You’re my fucking nakama. I’m not so traumatized that I don’t know the difference between a friend and a rapist! How do you even have the gall to look at me like I could ever think something like that—especially after everything you did for me?”

“I—”

“ _Shut up!_ ” he interrupted, leaning his full weight against the other man. Zoro grabbed his shoulders automatically, as if to shove him off, but removed them just as quickly. They fell limply at his sides while the cook continued speaking in an increasingly dangerous tone. “Do you want to know what I meant? Why you were in my dreams? Why I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you after you told me how you chose to cope with this?”

For the first time since they’d met, Zoro gave up the fight and just nodded helplessly. He froze in complete surprise when Sanji abruptly pressed his lips against the other man’s, pinning him in place with a firm kiss.

“You were the best part of those dreams, dumbass,” the cook growled before descending on him again with an urgency that took the swordsman’s breath away.

They kissed wildly as Zoro’s instinct finally overwhelmed his confusion. His hands had returned to Sanji’s shoulders, automatically drawing him closer rather than pushing him away, and the cook responded with unexpected enthusiasm. Zoro could taste the salt on his lips from his tears—a stark contrast to the sweetness of his tongue and the spicy hint of cigarettes. It was absolutely mouth-watering.

Never in a million years would he have thought he’d get to kiss the cook like this. Perhaps a tiny part of him hoped that a drunken scuffle might turn into an angry make-out session—maybe a blowjob if Sanji were ever desperate enough to let him—but for the blond to initiate this _after_ experiencing something so horrible at the hands of another man…impossible.

Apparently, it was _very_ possible, because the cook was pressing up against him like a dog in heat, and his mouth was everywhere—tasting the skin at his throat, neck, and shoulders while long, eager fingers trailed feverishly across the swordsman’s chest. Zoro was utterly lost in the other man’s touch, barely able to form a coherent thought. He knew he should be stopping this, if only to ask, “What the _fuck_ is happening _?_ ” before things got out of control, but the words wouldn’t come.

It wasn’t until Sanji bit him roughly on the collar, whether on purpose or by accident he didn’t know, that the swordsman finally remembered the dubious nature of consent. He couldn’t let the cook do this—not after a mental breakdown like the one he’d just witnessed. The man wasn’t thinking clearly...he _couldn’t_ be.

“S-sanji,” he got out, breathless from the intensity of the kisses. He reached up to encircle the cook’s biceps in a firm grip to indicate that he was serious when he said, “Stop for a minute, will you? Tell me what the fuck is going on in your head.”

“What do you think, marimo?” Sanji asked him coyly, pausing in his pleasurable assault on the swordsman’s skin.

“I think you’re acting insane, and I want an explanation— _now._ ”

“You kissed me back,” he stated simply.

“I—so what? Of course I’m going to respond if you do… _that._ ”

“Is that the only reason? It was just automatic, and you don’t really want to?”

“I…didn’t say that,” Zoro replied cryptically. “You’re freaking me out. I thought I was going to have to find Chopper to examine you because you were zoning out and talking like you didn’t know what was real. Then you come barging in here to kick my ass, and now _this?_ I’m trying to do the responsible thing and ask you what the hell is going on.”

“I’ve wanted to do this ever since you found me in the marine base. What you said about having a positive experience as a comparison—I understand why you wanted to make a better memory to help you make sense of what happened. I…sort of have a fucked-up confession to make.”

“More fucked up than me paying a prostitute instead of a therapist?”

“I couldn’t accept what was happening to me. He kept giving me that drug, so I couldn’t just endure the pain until it was over because pain wasn't the only thing that I felt. I only managed to stay sane, because I thought about _you_.”

Zoro looked at him in surprise at that, but the cook was going on before he could respond. “It was easier to understand what I was feeling if I imagined what it might be like with you instead. When you found me, and it still hadn’t worn off...well, that was probably the most mortifying thing that’s ever happened to me,” he admitted wryly. “I started having dreams about you, but they would turn into nightmares halfway through and shock me awake. I didn’t want you to touch me because I hadn't shaken off the dream and couldn’t stop thinking about _him_ showing up.”

“So…our talk in the galley had nothing to do with your nightmares?”

“No, you asshole. I left because I’m a hopeless pervert who felt guilty about being happy that there was a chance you might understand my dilemma. I don’t want to make a new memory with anybody else—I just want _you_.”

 “You’re...actually serious about this?”

“No, I just thought it would be _hilarious_ to attack you and then start kissing you—yes, I’m fucking serious! Are you interested or not, marimo? I haven’t got all night.”

“That’s too bad, since we’re all alone on the ship,” he said slyly, prompting Sanji to break out into an identical grin.

“I guess it’s a good thing that everyone decided to stay out tonight.”

“Very fortunate. It’s almost like the heavens themselves want you to get laid, Cook.”

“I don’t know about any divine intervention, but _someone_ needs to reimburse me for three day’s worth of shitty orgasms.”

“I'll definitely volunteer to make those up to you,” Zoro told him eagerly.

“So now that we’ve cleared _that_ up, can we resume this somewhere less stifling?”

“Fuck— _yes._ ”

Without further ado, they made their way to the men’s dorms, not even bothering to lock the door. Sanji was half-delirious with anticipation, so he wasn't thinking rationally enough to be even afraid that someone might walk in on them. Zoro was already shedding clothes in his eagerness, tossing the pieces over his shoulder haphazardly as he slowly unveiled his toned body to the cook. Sanji was distracted by the view, pausing to take the time to actually _look_ at the swordsman in a completely different way…and he was not disappointed in the least.

His mind began recalling the good dreams that he’d had, wondering if the real thing would measure up to or surpass his fantasies. Zoro crashed into him and sealed their lips in a kiss, his fingers working to start removing the distracted cook’s clothes. It wasn’t until that moment that Sanji remembered his wounds, and he stilled under the swordsman’s hands, automatically gripping the other man’s wrists to stop him from shedding the last layer that would expose the blond's chest. He broke their kiss with a jerk, instinctively holding his collar closed.  

“W-wait. I forgot about…um…”

“What’s the matter?” Zoro asked him obliviously.

Sanji’s face flushed in nervous embarrassment. Although the wounds had all healed over, they were still incredibly stark against the paleness of his skin. He’d spent an immodest amount of time staring at himself in the mirror over the past few weeks, wondering if the ugly scars would ever fade or if he would just have to learn to accept them. He shifted uncomfortably, rethinking his spontaneous decision to start something with the swordsman before addressing his insecurities.

“I—I know you’ve seen them before but…that was different,” he explained quickly, studiously avoiding eye contact.

Zoro sucked in a sharp breath when he realized what the cook was referring to, slowly nodding his head in agreement. “No, you’re right. That was different. You didn’t want me to see you like that, but it was necessary at the time.”

His voice was surprisingly soft and understanding, which only made the cook feel worse about the situation. He was frozen under the swordsman’s gaze, unable to decide what he should do or say now that they’d already started.

“I’m sorry, I’m not being fair. I know this was my idea. I just need a minute to—”

“Sanji.”

The cook looked up quickly, startled by the suddenness of the other man’s hard tone, and was surprised to see that Zoro was seriously pissed. He couldn’t remember the swordsman ever looking at him like that—like he had just said something completely unacceptable. It made him feel confused, and suddenly he just wanted to shrink away to nothing. _I’m being stupid,_ he thought. _He has plenty of scars himself. We’re both warriors…_ Except, Sanji’s way of fighting didn’t put his body in as much harm as the swordsman’s—or at least, it hadn’t until it had gotten him into this.

“Don’t say that,” Zoro growled fiercely, catching the cook’s face between his hands. “You aren’t obligated to do anything if you don’t want to. You can tell me to fuck off right now, and I’ll leave. Don’t force yourself to go through with something you aren’t ready for—I don’t want you to regret it later,” he said gently, smoothing the pads of his thumbs along Sanji’s jaw in a soothing gesture.

“I—”

“Listen, we don’t have to dive into this headfirst. There’s such a thing as baby steps, Cook.”

Sanji just nodded, reaching up to carefully remove Zoro’s hands. He was suddenly overwhelmed with gratefulness, comforted by the fact that he could walk away if he felt uncomfortable. The more he thought about it, the less sure he was that he was ready to face his nightmares head-on, even with Zoro. What if it was too much too soon? What if he freaked out like he had earlier and couldn’t bear to have the swordsman touch him? Zoro had gone years before trying something like this—what if it was still too fresh in the cook’s mind?

“I _do_ want to…I’m just worried is all,” Sanji admitted quietly.

Zoro nodded firmly, making a show of re-buttoning the top of the cook’s shirt with gentle movements. His fingers lightly brushed the skin there, causing pleasurable goosebumps to rise and spread along Sanji’s skin wherever it was kissed by the swordsman's warmth. His heart was beating madly, even though it was clear that Zoro wasn’t going to continue now that he realized the other man still had reservations.

“Come here,” he said quietly, taking the blond’s hand instead. Zoro led him to the hammocks, gesturing that they should climb into one together.

“What…?”

“Get in. I wanna sleep with you,” he explained coyly, pulling the cook in after him. They flopped into Zoro’s hammock in a tangle of limbs, quickly finding a more comfortable position with minimal fumbling. The swordsman retrieved a blanket from somewhere, tossing it lazily overtop of them with a contented sigh. Sanji melted against him immediately, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. They were completely enveloped in each other, the swordsman’s arm curled around the cook’s back with Sanji’s head resting on his chest. He smelled like summer.

“Thank you,” the cook mumbled sincerely, sliding his hand across the warm skin of Zoro’s toned stomach with a shy, exploratory gesture. He wished he could do more, but fatigue was quickly seeping into his bones, making him limp all over. Now he wanted nothing more than to lie like this and enjoy the feeling of being in the swordsman’s arms.

“You’re welcome,” Zoro told him simply, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head. They fell into a comfortable silence, and the cook was quickly lulled into a deep sleep by the soft sound of the other man’s breathing. His last thought was that there was no way in hell he would be moving from this spot anytime soon, which meant that their crewmates would inevitably barge in and find them cuddled up together. Sanji decided that he simply didn’t care.

He slept more peacefully that night than he had in weeks, and there were no nightmares—only dreams.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this fic was enjoyable to read despite the serious theme. I personally find it uncomfortable to write about rape, but I wanted to capture the emotion behind shared experiences of trauma and also exploit the disadvantages of Sanji's fighting style so that he had no choice but to accept Zoro's help...because I am a merciless cupid and my ships must sail! :D


End file.
